The Inquisitor's Commander
by Catgy
Summary: A ball is thrown in Skyhold following the defeat of Corypheus to celebrate Evelyn's victory. Cullen FINALLY makes his move.
1. Chapter 1

_**A/N:**_ _My first time posting a multi-chaptered fic (and writing sexy stuff)!_

* * *

For the tenth time that evening, Cullen fiddles with his surcoat in front of the mirror. He sighs. He shouldn't have agreed, although he knows rejection is not an option. He studies himself in the mirror, his ceremonial plate gleaming, his fur surcoat neat and tidy. He narrows his eyes as he spots yet another bunch of fur out of place.

Cullen hates balls. He hates the politicking and gossiping that's bound to occur. He hates the dancing, the music... He shudders as he remembers the Winter Palace, and blanches. A bunch of Orlesian nobles had taken to fawning over him, no doubt viewing his position as an asset, and his status as a bachelor, fair game. One even had no sense of personal space and propriety as she reached out a cheeky hand to pinch his bottom. When he had complained to Josephine she had simply laughed, and he had been left red-faced with embarrassment. Sera had overheard, and well, it didn't take long for the whole of Skyhold to find out. What's worse is that Evelyn _had_ found out, and Cullen turns red at the memory.

But this ball is different, he reminds himself as he combs his hair for the thirteenth time. It's one thrown by the Inquisition – Josephine, actually – to celebrate the defeat of Corypheus at the hands of their darling Inquisitor. This ball he will attend.

Evelyn Trevelyan has been the object of his secret – and if you ask him, totally unworthy – affections for some time now. The fact that she's a mage doesn't deter him – he's liked a mage before, after all – although the fact that she's a noble does give him some pause. The truth is that the entire matter deters him simply because he _knows_ he's not good enough for her, knows that she can do so much better than a workaholic, washed-up ex-templar. Somebody who can shower her with love and riches, bring her power and fame; somebody who's not fundamentally lacking, somebody who's not _him._

A knock on his door brings him back to reality, and he opens it to see a messenger, come to "remind" the Commander that the Inquisition ball is about to begin and _will he please kindly show his face in the grand hall now_. It's as if Josephine half-expects him to bail, and he snorts in derision. He dismisses the messenger curtly, and gives himself one last look in the mirror as he adjusts his surcoat for the eleventh time and drags a comb through his hair for the fourteenth. _Here goes nothing._

* * *

The hall is packed with various visiting dignitaries, and countless commoners from and around Skyhold. It seems as though Josephine has invited everybody and their mabari in Thedas. It frightens Cullen, makes his toes curl, as the dignitaries give him overly-polite and overly-friendly smiles. Warriors fight with their swords in their hands. Diplomats fight with hidden daggers behind careful smiles. He forces wan smiles in response as he makes his way forward to find the others.

Leliana is busy, of course. Solas had disappeared with nary a word after the fight with Corypheus just a week ago, his personal belongings conspicuously missing and the rest of the things in his room left untouched. Cullen had wanted to approach Evelyn the past week, wanted to speak with her, but she slept like a log the first two days, barely rousing to eat the third, and in the last four he lost all semblance of courage as she took to the streets of Skyhold to speak with all their refugees – and their mabari.

The rest of the Inquisitor's inner circle are standing near the centre of the hall, waiting for Maker knows what, Cullen realises, until he observes that Evelyn isn't among them. _Ah._ He's barely made his way to Dorian when the doors are flung open and the Inquisitor, flanked by several guards, enters.

Cullen's breath catches in his throat. Evelyn looks ravishing in an off-shoulder rich red gown trimmed with gold. Her hair is tied up in a bun, gold adornments shimmering in her hair. Her bare face is made-up today – no doubt Leliana's doing – and she looks even more beautiful than ever. Cullen never thought that possible.

She walks until she reaches the dias, and sits regally on her throne. Cullen barely conceals the smile on his face as he realises she's trying her hardest not to slouch, as she's wont to do whenever a prisoner was brought before her. _Old habits die hard._ Josephine stands on the dias then and makes a proclamation, a rousing short speech about the defeat of Corypheus, and on how the Inquisition will continue to help Thedas.

Cullen doesn't listen. He's transfixed, of course, by Evelyn. She looks radiant, light from the candles high up in the halls falling on her hair and face. She's positively glowing. When Josephine announces for the Inquisitor's entire inner circle to stand in front, Cullen isn't paying attention, and it's only when Dorian grabs him by the cuff of his sleeve does he startle back to reality.

He stands with the others as the Inquisitor makes a short speech. Her speech isn't as flowery as Josephine's – nor as politically correct; Sera sniggers when Evelyn "slips up" and says _Coryp-shit_ instead – but it's blunt and direct and it gets the message across. Excitement is palpable in the air, and even Josephine gives her a nod of approval as the crowd bursts into enthusiastic cheering and clapping.

And then the ball officially begins. The band at the corner begins playing music, Orlesian court numbers mixed with upbeat Ferelden favourites as people instinctively clear out the space in the centre of the hall and turn it into an impromptu dance floor.

Cullen opts instead to remain at the side of the hall and follow Evelyn with his gaze. She swans her way through the crowd slowly, making polite small talk with the various dignitaries. He smiles and relaxes as he watches her converse with several Orlesians with ease, and then he stiffens as she catches his eye. He swallows nervously as she begins making her way towards him.

"Commander." Another number begins playing. Around them, the people mingle and dance and eat, the delectable buffet table nearby tempting, with its offers of Thedosian cuisine.

Cullen doesn't notice any of that, of course. His eyes are transfixed on Evelyn's bright ones. Of all the people, she's sought him out. Panic bubbles in him as he realises she's looking for him and has found him.

"You look beautiful tonight, Inquisitor." Cullen dips his head slightly.

"Thank you, Commander." Evelyn smiles prettily and he blushes; he hopes that the pink on his face isn't too obvious.

"I – would you like to dance, my lady?" He's danced with her before, of course, back at the Winter Palace in Halamshiral, but that was different. They were there as a group, a united front, and when she had asked him to save a dance for her he had thought it to be a part of that silly Orlesian Game or something. He's reminded himself not to read too much into it, although he's ashamed to admit that at that point in time, he had.

He's convinced himself rather successfully over the past few months that his affections for her are unworthy and that he's beneath her. He can almost imagine the others tutting under their breath should they discover that he holds a candle for their darling Inquisitor.

Still, that does not keep him from hoping. One can still hope.

"I would love to." Evelyn replies with measured enthusiasm and he's positive it's part of a show, part of an image she wishes to project to the Inquisition's allies. She's getting better at the Game, he can give her that. She can't seriously enjoy dancing with him or being around him.

Cullen's only ever allowed himself to like another girl once – a certain young lady back at the Circle Tower on Lake Calenhad. _That_ had been a disaster, as well. When he had tried to speak to her, he had frightened himself so much he actually fled the scene and had _maybe_ even wet his pants. _Maybe._ He shudders at the memory before he realises Evelyn is looking at him, expectant.

 _Right_. He wants to slap himself now.

He bows gracefully, a polite smile on his face, as he extends a gloved hand. Templars don't dance. Ex-templars don't dance. Commanders _definitely_ don't dance. He's not sure why he's offered her a dance. As he splays a hand across her back and holds her hand with the other, he suddenly wishes that he had at least taken some dancing lessons. At least then he wouldn't suck at everything.

Evelyn is gorgeous and is definitely the light of the ball. Cullen remembers the many dignitaries eyeing her with interest – mainly men, but some women. The fact that they are all nobles bothers Cullen even more. If he's felt bad at himself before he feels worse now. He leads the dance carefully and gently, making sure not to step on her feet or make a fool of himself. At least, going slow, there's more room for error and mistakes. Evelyn, on the other hand, is a patient dance partner. She's also somewhat more competent at dancing than him.

The world seems to shrink to the two of them, her grey eyes on his brown ones as they dance to the music. Cullen tries to remember the moment, tries to capture the memory so he wouldn't ever forget it. But just as quickly as it began, the music stops and the dance ends as Cullen lets her go, afraid to hold on any longer to her lest he betray his one-sided affections.

Evelyn smiles and curtsies; he bows low as she thanks him and heads off. She's almost immediately accosted by an eager lady asking for a dance, and Evelyn obliges politely. If Cullen had been looking forward to any romantic sparks between them during the dance, the chance was long gone.

He's squandered it, as he's squandered away all the other opportunities he's had over the past few months. He tells himself he's not good enough for her, that he's somehow more _deficient_ than the others but yet he still wants her, craves her, desires her. Word has reached him that Evelyn hasn't shown any romantic interest in any in her inner circle, which only further serves to fuel his impossible dreams and desires. Evelyn Trevelyan is his guilty pleasure, he reflects as he makes his way away from the dance floor, and to the side of the hall where the buffet tables are. A guilty pleasure, a secret fantasy, as he lies awake in his bed at night and daydreams of her touch, her feel, and her scent against his bare skin. What he would give to run his fingers along her blond hair, to pleasure her and make her mewl beneath him...

He bites his lip and balls his hands into fists in his starchy gloves. His face turns red as he remembers he's in public, and that it wouldn't do for him to think any more dirty thoughts about their beloved Inquisitor. It's impossible and he knows it, but yet somehow he wishes with all of his soul, holds out hope that maybe she has room in her heart for a washed-up ex-templar, room in her heart for a broken man, room in her heart for... _him._

Several nobles are getting far too friendly with Evelyn – one weaselly-looking young man has brought her hand to his lips to kiss it far longer than what is considered strictly polite – and Cullen's hand instinctively flies to his belt, and grasps at thin air. Of course his sword isn't with him. No weapons allowed, Josephine's rule. He grumbles softly as he leans back against the hard wooden chair. At least Josephine had some sense to ban weapons at the ball. If he had his way, he probably would have drawn his sword and challenged the Weasel Man with that itchy lips to a death match. And _that_ wouldn't do. He slumps almost defeatedly.

"It won't do; it'll be terrible. His blood will stain the carpets." Beside him, Dorian drawls and gives him a knowing look, almost in response to his thoughts. Cullen stifles a sigh as he turns to face the Tevinter, who has a bowl filled with plump grapes before him. Dorian's dressed outrageously, as he always is, although now Cullen finds himself suddenly jealous of the mage's confidence and flair.

"You didn't hear me say anything." Cullen grits.

"Of course I didn't. I can see it written all over your face."

Cullen narrows his eyes and Dorian regards him indifferently. "Is it that obvious?"

"What? Your lack of confidence or your feelings for our dear Inquisitor?"

"Both." Cullen lowers his voice, exasperated, and hopes he's not as open a book Dorian paints him to be. Confiding in Dorian isn't something he's expected himself to do; but at this juncture, stuck in a ball with nothing but his thoughts and his proximity to Evelyn has left him with little options, if any.

"Ask her out."

"What?" Cullen whips around to face him, his voice nearly strangled in response to the Tevinter's smooth comment.

" _Tell_ her. _Show_ her." Dorian enunciates the syllables clearly as if Cullen were an idiot – truth be told, he's pretty sure he looks like one now, with his red face and gaping mouth.

"I can tell her. I want to help." A small voice pips up.

Cullen glares at Cole, who's made his way over to them and is looking innocently at him.

"I want to help you." Cole repeats. He's still wearing his hat.

"Please." Cullen massages his temples, which have suddenly begun to ache. "No."

Cole looks at Dorian, who shakes his head. They watch Cullen in silence for a while more before they both make their way to the dessert table, and Cullen's finally left alone at his chair, his face buried in his hands.

He finally straightens up as he notices Evelyn walking to a door, probably hoping for a respite from the happenings of the ball. Maybe this is his chance. Gathering his courage and ignoring the sound of his heartbeat thudding in his ear, he makes his way across the room, and to her.

* * *

Cullen follows her quietly out into the garden of Skyhold. Several months ago she had decided to remodel the garden into one of quiet meditation; a statue of Andraste stands polished in a nearby alcove. Evelyn hadn't been – and still isn't – particularly Andrastian, but she had reasoned to her advisors that many of the refugees were, and it would be good to provide them a space for spiritual comfort and solace.

Now, at least, the garden is thankfully empty. There is only the two of them. Cullen takes a step forward, walks onto dirt, and immediately crunches a leaf beneath his boot. _Maker's breath._

Evelyn turns around quickly, training as a Knight-Enchanter having honed her reflexes, and her demeanour relaxes as she realises it's just him. Just _Cullen_. Cullen feels pained, suddenly, as her eyes search his, and he wonders whether she had been expecting somebody else, but had instead turned around to find plain old, boring, Cullen.

"Commander. I didn't expect to see you here." Evelyn looks pretty under the moonlight. The air is slightly chilly and Cullen briefly wonders whether she's cold. "Did you follow me out here?"

That she will call him out so obviously is not something he expected, and he finds himself red-faced in embarrassment as he searches for words to reply, tongue-tied.

"I – I wanted to speak with you."

"Is it urgent?" She presses, and Cullen's face falls as he realises her intent.

"No. But –" he pauses, unsure whether to continue. "I need to talk. About you. And me."

Evelyn frowns slightly and Cullen scratches the nape of his neck with one hand. "How do I say this – I –" He looks up to meet her confused eyes and his words catch in his throat. And then he thinks better of it. "Never mind. I – I should be going now."

He turns to flee, not daring to turn around, and Evelyn doesn't call him back, either.


	2. Chapter 2

It's Cullen's third mug of Skyhold Surprise that night. It burns as it goes down his throat, but it's nothing compared to the fire burning within him. He hates himself, hates his lack of courage, hates his weak-willed spine. He had one chance with Evelyn in the garden and he blew it. He slams the mug on the table, not caring if any dignitaries are looking at him. He's beyond the point of caring, he reflects, as he watches Evelyn mingling among the crowd from his spot near the dim recesses of the hall. After tonight's incident there's no way he can bring himself to face her, and he's positively sure she wouldn't want to see him, either. So he's taken to drinking to drown his sorrows.

He's so engrossed in drink and his thoughts that he doesn't notice when Evelyn appears before him, Cole by her side. It's only when she calls him does he look up, his eyes widening in surprise.

"Inquisitor!" His face falls as he looks at Cole, standing nervously next to her. Evelyn has an amused but concerned look on her face, and realisation dawns upon him as he recognises what Cole has done. Cullen's eyes narrow in hot anger and embarrassment.

"Please, Commander." She shoots a thankful glance at Cole, who immediately runs away. "Let's talk somewhere else. In private."

"Very well." Cullen watches Cole's retreating back. His face is crimson red as they make their way to the battlements in silence, the cool night wind doing little to suffuse the blood in his face. He turns to face her as she stops.

"What did Cole tell you? Don't listen to what he has to say." He realises belatedly that it's too late; Cole has probably told Evelyn _everything_ , from Cullen's feelings of insecurity to his secret affections for her. Now he's wondered whether Cole has actually snuck about outside his room and listened as he fantasised about Evelyn on his bed sheets. His heart stutters. Or if Cole has actually snuck _into_ his room and seen with his own eyes Cullen's fantasies, heard with his own ears Cullen's desperate moans as he whispers her name. At this, his heart stops.

"Cole told me that you've been drinking a lot at the ball." Evelyn says the words clearly, carefully, her face a composed mask.

"And?"

"And that I should stop you before you embarrass yourself."

"Oh." He finishes lamely. "Nothing else?" Not that this is an ideal situation, either. Now she will think he's some incompetent buffoon who can't hold his drink, and dumb enough to make a fool of himself when drunk, both of which isn't true. The second, especially, isn't true at all.

"Nothing else." She smiles softly as she leans against the crenalations, and then she lets her long hair down from its tight bun. Cullen's breath catches in his throat. He loves her hair, loves it especially when she lets it down, a cascading blond waterfall of wavy locks. It's almost too much of a coincidence that she's untied her hair, too much like his late night fantasies as she lies on his bed with hair spun like liquid gold spread across the linens. But he thinks little of it as he heaves a sigh of relief, glad that Cole hasn't told her anything else. _Thank the Maker._

"Are you alright?" She turns to face him, concern on her face as she places an arm on the stone. Cullen's about to reply, when he notices her shiver. Immediately cursing himself for letting her out without a coat, he shrugs off his surcoat and drapes it over her slight frame. She buries her face in it gratefully and a big grin crosses her face, her cheeks flushed a becoming pink. She thanks him, and they're silent for a moment, before Cullen realises she's waiting for him to reply.

"I'm fine."

"About our conversation in the garden just now," Evelyn trails off, and Cullen freezes. _Maker's breath._ "You wanted to tell me something?"

"I – no. I mean, it's not important. You don't have to concern yourself."

"You mentioned it's got something to do with you and me?"

"Yes! I mean, no! I mean –" He covers his face with his hands. He takes a deep breath, and exhales, a cloud of mist from his mouth. "Yes."

"Cullen." Evelyn begins, her voice surprisingly gentle. A gust of wind picks up then and ruffles the fur of his surcoat, ruffles her blond hair, a glowing crown in the moonlight. "You can tell me anything." She reaches out with a timid hand. He doesn't realise he's gripping the stone so hard his knuckles are white, until the touch of her hand ghosts over his, and he relaxes. She squeezes his hand gently, the touch electric. Cullen wishes she won't let his hand go. Her face is waiting, expectant. After what feels like an eternity, Cullen clears his throat.

"Can you care for a templar?" His voice is low, unsure, afraid, and he watches her carefully.

"It depends _who_." Evelyn replies carefully, although her eyes are bright with mirth.

"Can you care...for me?" Cullen wraps his hand around hers. His heart is thudding like a mad war drum, and he can barely hear his thoughts. His face is red, but at this point he doesn't care anymore. He's holding her hand, she's here, she's real, and that's all that he can think of, and all that matters. _  
_  
"Cullen," Evelyn trails off, and his heart sinks. He looks down the battlements; maybe he can just jump down now?

"I – forgive me. It was presumptuous. I'm sorry." He stammers quickly as he releases her hand, as if burnt by her touch. All his hopes are crushed, but at least he knows his answer now. No more clinging on to false hopes, harbouring desires that can never be fulfilled. Being with her is an impossibility and it will do him well to forget about her, forget about his buried feelings. His heart aches, stung by her rejection.

One moment Evelyn is silent, her eyes on his. Light flurries fall about them, fall onto his surcoat, fall onto her hair. And the next she's pressed against him, satin lips on his in a chaste, gentle kiss.

Cullen pulls back almost immediately, shocked by her kiss. The fire within him burns as he realises – _no_ , it's not rejection. It's _acceptance. Maker's breath._ He pulls her to him and his lips meet hers; her slender fingers tangle in his wavy hair as he holds her close, holds her tight as they kiss. The kiss is long with more than a hint of the passion that lies beneath them, and when finally he pulls away they're both reeling for breath.

He gazes at her, her face centimetres from his own, brown eyes meeting her grey ones. Her cheeks are flushed, her lips red, and she's grinning.

"I've been waiting for you to do that for the longest time." She whispers as she presses her hands against his chest, fingers against armour. The plate is cold so he grabs her hands instead and clasps them in his own. "I care for you, Cullen, more than I could have ever imagined."

Cullen feels like a fool now. "As do I. Although I'll like to warn you that I've been meaning to do that for quite some time now." He brings her hand to his lips and kisses it gently. He can feel her shiver under his touch. Around them, the snow flurries continue to fall. "Come. Let's go indoors."

"To my room?"

"Your – your room?" Cullen's breath catches in his throat and he stares at her, wide-eyed in shock and surprise.

"To talk. Unless you enjoy freezing? If you do, I know a spell." Evelyn laughs.

"Alright, my lady. Lead the way." Cullen lets her hands go, but instead she wraps one arm around his as they make their way down the quiet hallways. Everybody's celebrating in the hall and busy getting inebriated, so it comes as no surprise that nobody has noticed that the guest-of-honour has snuck off. Cullen, however, is extremely aware of her slender arm hooked about his. His eyes trail up her arms, sight of skin interrupted only by a sash of fabric, and then catches on her bare shoulder.

In the dim light of the hallways, Evelyn leads them around a circuitous path to avoid any curious eyes. Cullen's eyes trail along her collarbone to the beautiful necklace she's wearing, a gold pendant that rests just above the neckline of her dress. His eyes are drawn to the top of her bosom, squeezed by the tightness of her dress and he immediately looks away. He can't and he shouldn't violate the Inquisitor even with his eyes, despoiling her with his unworthy sight.

For all he knows, she's just entertaining him, and a part of him cries out that she's pitying him, playing along because she's too tactful to admit the truth and yet sympathetic enough to at least grant him a night of reprieve from his one-sided thoughts. Or maybe she's mocking him, inwardly laughing at his foolish and impossible affections for her.

She pushes open the door to her room, and they enter wordlessly. She latches it, the sound of the lock sliding echoing throughout the high-ceilinged room, a finality. Cullen swallows. He follows her up the stairs as she ascends with a certain spring in her step, and if he was sure of himself just now during the kiss, he's suddenly not so very sure now, now that the two of them are alone in her room. He seems to have left his courage back downstairs at the battlements. Maybe he should leave now, retrieve it, and never come back?

She turns to face him, and drags him down to sit next to her on the loveseat in moonlight. She's scrutinising him, Cullen realises, and words should leave his mouth but they don't. He should talk but he can't; instead he stares at her, tongue-tied and blushing.

"Inquisitor. Are you sure?" He can't believe it, and he won't, until she's convinced him so. He's spent so long persuading himself that he can never get her; now that she's actually willing to give him a chance, he can't believe his own ears.

"Yes, Cullen. And please, call me Evelyn." There's that smile again, a wicked-looking coy smile, the type of smile Evelyn has whenever she knows she has her way. Cullen clears his throat nervously.

"Evelyn. About you and I –" He pauses and takes a deep breath. "I really like you, and I really want to have a chance with you. But I can understand if you don't want –"

Evelyn shushes him in a ruffling of skirts as she leans over and places a finger over his mouth. "You're here. I'm here. Do you honestly believe that I would invite you here if I didn't like you?"

The shocked look on Cullen's face gives her the answer she needs and she giggles.

"I've been so stupid and afraid." Cullen confesses, his words coming out in a rush. "I was so frightened when you fought Corypheus without waiting for reinforcements. I was terrified something bad would happen. Every time you went out on those missions of yours I was worried. I couldn't sleep, it's stupid, I know, but back at Haven, even back at Haven, you caught my eye then."

Now it's Evelyn's turn to stare at him, her mouth slightly open. "Cullen –"

"I know I'm not what you expect. I know you deserve better. But I'll do anything – anything to see you smile and keep you safe, my lady." There, he's said it. Let her make of that what she will. "And if the day comes when you need to marry a noble, I'll gladly –"

"Cullen, stop." Her tone brokered no discussion. "You _are_ good enough for me, stop bringing yourself down. I'll have you know that you're the one I think of when I lie here in the dark of the night. There's nobody else I think of but you." Her voice is soft, her eyes far away.

Cullen immediately thinks of his own fantasies, Evelyn spread out on his bed sheets, and he suddenly finds it very hard to reconcile that with her confession that _he_ is the lucky guy on her mind when she's alone at night. The sheer thought of it makes him giddy and he presses her hand to his cheek. And then he realises her face is red, blushing prettily at her confession, and he suddenly wants to kiss her embarrassment away, to tell her that she shouldn't feel shame, that the only one who _should_ feel ashamed should be him, not her. _Never her._

"I think of you, too." He admits lamely.

"Doing what?" She leans even closer, and she peeks up at him through her long lashes.

"Things." Cullen coughs and avert his gaze, his face totally red now, and he's mortified at the quick turn the conversation has taken.

"Like what things?" Evelyn leans in even closer, her lips almost at his ear. Her hands are on his hair, although now they're moving steadily downwards.

"Are you sure you want to find out?" Cullen's shocked when the words leave his mouth, shocked at his own audacity. For a moment he doesn't feel like Cullen anymore, but like a new-made man. Somebody daring, confident, and charming. Not the awkward advisor in the Inquisition war room, nor the harsh military man in front of his soldiers, but somebody else altogether, but yet, still himself. It frightens him. It sends tingles up his spine. And he welcomes this new part of him with open arms.

"Yes," Evelyn breathes into his ear as she nods her affirmation. Cullen honestly hasn't expected things to get this far; he had meant only to confess his feelings, but yet here they are, in her room. One wrong move, one misstep and there will be consequences. He blinks. There _are_ already consequences. Her breath on him is intoxicating, and it takes all of Cullen's self-control to not take her right there and then. Of all the permutations of encounters he had considered with Evelyn, this evening definitely isn't high on his list, but now that things have reached this stage…

"I want you to tease me, pleasure me. Make love to me." Evelyn pulls back and says simply. Her expression is bright and wanting. Cullen groans. This _really_ isn't how he's planned it. He didn't expect her to be this...forward.

"First, let us talk." He insists, lifting a shy hand to touch her face.

"First? I think we're past the point of talking?" Evelyn begins tugging on her dress, exposing even more of her creamy skin, and Cullen, panicking, pulls her hands away. She eyes him curiously.

"I know what you want. I want it, too."

"Goodness, Cullen! Who talks like that?"

"Me." He keeps his voice low and breathy. If it's going to go according to plan he's got to play the part. "I want our first time to be perfect." He continues as nonchalantly as he can, as if he were discussing the weather. "So first, we talk."

Evelyn rolls her eyes but smiles, her cheeks pink. "So my guess _is_ right. You _are_ a virgin."

It's Cullen's turn to smirk. He leans close, his body pressed against hers on the loveseat, just enough to allow her to feel his hardness against her, just enough to allow her to realise the effect she has on him. His lips are at her ear, and in the huskiest voice he can muster, he whispers: "No, I'm _not_."

He pulls back long enough to watch her expression, her gaping mouth, her bright eyes as she lets out a soft gasp of surprise.

"I want to take it slow." He clasps both her hands in one of his own as he studies her face intently. This, at least, he can do. He's done this countless times in his room at night in his daydreams. He's fantasised about this moment more times than he can imagine and he wants it to be perfect for both of them. He _needs_ it to be perfect. "I want to pleasure you all night. I want to worship on your altar like a devout priest."

"I didn't know –" Evelyn giggles. "But please, don't use the line about the priest again."

He ignores the jab and continues. "I want to show you the depth of my love, the sincerity of my heart. I want you to know that I've never, ever, felt anything like this." He locks her gaze with his and she squirms slightly. She's quiet now, no more joking or laughing, just her intent gaze upon his and the snow flurries falling silently outside. They're alone, it's real. He's got her attention, alright.

With his free hand he caresses her from her temple to her chin, and then he lets his fingers linger on her suffused cheeks. She says nothing, instead choosing to let him lead. His hand falls to her shoulder and it rests there, his thumb tracing gentle circles on her skin.

"I want to at least do something right. If nothing else – at least let me prove to you, prove to myself, that I'm at least half-worthy of your time and affections." His eyes sting slightly at the last part but he ignores it. It's true, after all. She deserves so much better. But at least for tonight, he wants to convince himself and her that he can do something right, after all.

"Cullen," Evelyn touches his hand on her shoulder with her own. "I don't think of you that way. I don't think you're any less worthy. In fact, you're more worthy than every man in Skyhold. No, _Thedas_." She pauses, not in hesitation, but to collect her thoughts. "You're brave, and strong, and you're one of the best leaders I've ever had the honour of meeting. It would be an honour, to know that such a man even notices me, to know that such a man holds a candle for me."

Cullen makes to speak but Evelyn holds up a hand. If he wants to "talk first", talk they shall. "I like you and only you, Cullen. I can care less whether you're of noble birth or not. One cannot choose the circumstance of one's birth. But one can, however," and Evelyn brings her hand up to caress his cheek, "choose how one acts and behaves. You're a good man with honour and a good heart, and a fine warrior. I can't ask for more."

"I have plenty of flaws." He rebuts weakly; her words are undoubtedly sincere and his doubts suddenly seem so far away.

"I'm not perfect. Nobody is. But I like _you_ , Cullen. Now can we stop talking," Evelyn licks her lips salaciously. "And get to the fun part instead? I've been waiting for this for so long."

"Oh? Really? How long have you been waiting?" Cullen laughs. He feels emboldened somewhat. Maybe his courage has returned to him, buoyed by her words.

"A few months." Evelyn pouts.

"A few months? Have you counted? I think I've waited longer than you have." Cullen squeezes her shoulder, his fingers circling the bare skin.

"Precisely! Why wait any longer?"

"I'm sure you've waited so long already. What's another few more minutes?" Cullen's eyes flash with delight. Memories of his fantasy daydreams roll back into his mind, unbidden, and he knows just what to do.

Evelyn just groans, but Cullen shushes her with a finger on her lips. He smirks, and the look on Evelyn's face is all he wants to and needs to know; she's obviously never seen this side of him before. Tonight, however, she shall.

With one swift movement he straddles her and has her pinned to the loveseat, her hands held firmly in one of his. The other free hand, lingering by her shoulder, moves to remove the ornaments in her hair. Evelyn watches him carefully with bated breath.

Cullen leans close, his stubble tickling her chin, his voice low and husky. "Tonight, Evelyn, I want to make you cry my name."


	3. Chapter 3

_**A/N:**_ _I was aiming for a more...realistic scenario, especially among two lovers who have never been with each other before. My only concern is that it detracts from the fantasy ideal that people seem to expect when reading about two people making love for the first time. Oh well. :) Also, the runes are a thing, right?_

* * *

Cullen removes the necklace awkwardly with one hand and places it aside on the table nearby. He can see Evelyn's chest heaving in anticipation; he's hurting already from her proximity and the slight swells of her breasts above her tight dress, but he's determined to pleasure her first.

"Evelyn, do you think of me when we're in the war room?" He whispers.

"I –" Now it's Evelyn's turn to be tongue-tied as he runs his hand along her collarbone, fingers tickling bare skin softly as they trail downwards slowly. "Yes." She licks her lips and he groans. With pinpoint precision she zeroes in on his weakness and she continues lasciviously. "Sometimes, I think of you bending me over on that table. I'm sure it's _very_ sturdy."

Cullen narrows his eyes and stifles a groan. So she's determined to play the game too _. Very well._

"Or on _your_ table." Evelyn continues. "And then we'll pull apart just as someone arrives, with nobody the wiser."

"I can arrange that." Cullen's eyes are dark with hunger as he slides a finger along the neckline of her dress, along the swells of her breasts. He rests a finger in the dip under her dress. Evelyn gasps as she struggles to free her captive hands from Cullen's tight grip, to no avail.

"What I'll like to see, however, is you in my surcoat." Cullen breathes.

"Your surcoat?" She bites her lips and looks over the object in question, lying on the floor nearby.

"Yes. But naked. To feel you writhe beneath my touch, the taste of you under my tongue, the feel of your skin against mine." He locks her gaze with his.

" _Fuck_ , Cullen. I really didn't know you have such a dirty mind."

"I wouldn't say dirty. I'll say, _imaginative_. But you're enjoying it."

Her silent blush is the only response to his remark and he raises an eyebrow, positive of her complicity. His lips turn up in a wry smile.

"And the fucking can wait. This is so much more fun."

Evelyn groans in response and he laughs, clear and light.

"I've also wondered what will happen if I can accompany you on one of your numerous missions outside Skyhold. I'll make sure to share a horse with you, of course. You'll take the reins, I'll sit behind, my hands cupped around your delicate, slender waist." He eyes her darkly, carefully, her face red as he leans closer, his lips just at her ear. "I'll let my hands slide down slowly, my fingers light as they dance against you, tease at you. Slowly I'll undo your ties, slide my fingers in. You'll squirm in pleasure and turn to face me, and I'll stop. I'll repeat this all day, of course, driving you crazy for me."

"I'll kill you when we make camp." Evelyn stammers slightly, suddenly left breathless.

"I think that's a price I'll be willing to pay." He replies as he claims her lips with his gently. "Sometimes I imagine running into you in the library. You'll be tiptoeing, reaching for a book, and I'll cross over and retrieve it for you, before placing my arms around you. You'll turn to face me, and I'll push you against the bookshelves."

"That'll make a mess."

"Maybe I'll take you there and then."

"What if there's others in the library? Like Vivienne, or Solas? " She giggles.

"We'll just have to be very quiet and fast." Cullen licks his lips, slowly and deliberately, in the most teasing way he can imagine. "You, especially, have to be _very_ quiet." He presses his lips to the base of her throat then, alternating between kissing and murmuring.

The feel of his lips against the sensitive skin of her neck is enough to drive Evelyn crazy; she finally has the sense to get her hands free, and she pulls him towards her in a rough kiss. He falls onto her as her fingers roam across his body. She tugs on his waistband impatiently as he kisses her, full and long and deep. With one hand he fumbles with the zipper at the back of her dress, the bunchy red material only serving to get in his way. She's pulling on his tunic, trying desperately to remove it, and Cullen grunts as he pulls the blasted shirt over his head in one swift movement. Evelyn's eyes linger on his muscled chest far longer than necessary as she runs her hands along him.

The touch of her cold hands against his body is like water to the fire burning within him. One hand rests near her breasts, the other impatiently creeps up underneath her dress, dancing flirtatiously on her calves, then her thighs; Evelyn flushes red as he reaches her smalls, soaking wet already in anticipation. He grins as he pulls it down and tosses it off.

She mewls as he slides a careful finger into her; with the free hand he pushes her dress down and plays with her, watching with satisfaction the response of her body to his touch. Suddenly he pauses, her words from just now returning to him.

"You're not a virgin, are you?" He pulls back slightly to study her facial expression.

"No." She laughs.

"So somebody has been naughty with the mages back at Ostwick."

"No. The templars." Evelyn grins wickedly and Cullen suddenly feels very, very hot.

"The templars, eh?"

"One templar, actually."

"So you've been with a templar..." Cullen muses as he gently inserts another finger. She lets out a sharp moan at his touch.

"I know you've had a crush on the Hero of Ferelden once."

"We didn't do anything."

"She's still a mage, and still the Hero of Ferelden. Seems like you have a thing for mages." Evelyn has her hands around him now, lithe fingers stroking and caressing through the fabric of his pants, her eyes bright with understanding. _Maker's breath._

"Seems like _you_ have a thing for templars."

"What can I say? They're hot." Evelyn shrugs, laughing, as she begins undoing the laces of his pants.

"I'm surprised you're not moaning my name now."

"I have good self-control."

"Are you using magic? Are you cheating?" Cullen strokes her, feather light and then maddeningly fast. She moans almost immediately and he grins.

His pants are on the ground now, and he's almost dismayed to realise she's still wearing her dress. He makes quick work of it; now they're both naked, and he takes a moment to take in the sight of her.

Under the moonlight she's beautiful, blue light casting across the soft planes of her body. A cool breeze whips in from the slightly ajar balcony doors, and soft music dances across from the main hall. Her breasts aren't large, but proportionate to her slender body, her petite frame belying the slight muscles she has. He's saddened to note the small calluses on her fingers, no doubt from long hours of writing and holding a staff, and not enough rest. It's nothing compared to the warrior calluses he has, of course, but he's never really expected mages to show any sign of physical hardship.

"What's wrong?" Evelyn looks up at him, panting slightly.

"Your fingers. I never noticed." He holds up her hand now, a brief respite from their earlier frenzy.

"It's nothing."

He kisses her fingers gently, his eyes on hers, and then he stumbles to his feet. With one swift movement he carries her up and brings her to the bed; he falls onto the bed and flips them about until he's on top of her. She's grinning now, bright grey eyes meeting his brown ones, their faces both flushed.

He kisses her again, drawing a soft cry from her lips as his hands roam across her naked body, exploring every dip and curve, marking every centimetre as his. He's still not entirely convinced that she's serious about liking him, serious about giving him a chance, so he's decided to make the most of the evening he can.

His fingers rest between her thighs; he alternates between admiring her creamy skin, lightly freckled, and watching her facial expression as he plays with her, toys with her, elicits soft cries of pleasure from her pretty lips. He smirks.

"Sweet Maker, Cullen, here I was thinking you're so innocent and pure!" She cries, her voice cut off in a sudden moan as his fingers tease at her.

"Maybe you thought wrong." He laughs, light and hearty, as she whimpers. She's covered in a slight sheen of sweat, and Cullen shudders as he realises that this _is_ real, not just any of his risqué fantasies. He wants to remember this moment forever, wants to imprint it firmly in his mind.

He hovers over her, both arms supporting his weight as he leans down and kisses her gently before pulling away. Their lips are barely touching and he can almost taste her sweet scent on him.

He lowers himself slightly until his tip teases her, and he grins as a look of pleasured frustration crosses her face, her lips parted in a slight O. Gently he thrusts, never entering her fully, toying with her as he watches her face go red. She tangles her fingers in his hair in annoyance.

"Fuck, Cullen!"

"I told you, the fucking can _wait_." He laughs, and despite the look of mock irritation he sees on her face, he notices that her lips are turned up in a flushed grin.

Evelyn's eyes lock upon his as he thrusts, until finally she has had enough. She grips onto his shoulder and pulls him towards her roughly, and it's all he can do to make his entrance as smooth for her as possible.

"And I'll much prefer _making love_ to _fucking_ , _Inquisitor_." He raises a smug eyebrow as he leans in to murmur into her ear, placing careful emphasis on her honorific, and he feels her shiver beneath him. He thrusts, gently at first, before increasing his rhythm. Evelyn grins like a contented cat and arches her back, pressing her hips against his, twisting and moving ever so slightly to tease a moan from him, to feel him tight in her. Warmth caresses him like flames, soft tendrils of heat as he gives one final push. The moment hangs like eternity as he releases and exhales a breath he didn't know he's holding.

He smiles as he disentangles himself before leaning over her. His lips are on hers then, a gentle shy kiss as one hand smoothens a lock of damp hair away from her face and the other caresses her cheek.

"Thank you, Evelyn." He whispers, his breath cool against her warm and flushed cheek. For tonight, he'll savour this moment.

"Thank you too, Cullen." She tries to hide it, but the hunger in her eyes is unabated, the passion in them untamed. He notices it, and he understands.

"I'm not done." Cullen's eyes are dark; a wry smile crosses his face as he notices her surprised expression. "I can't leave you wanting. Lie back down." He insists as he sits upright and straddles her.

Evelyn obliges, and his hands are on her again; one dances on her thighs, and the other travels between her legs. His fingers are in her again, searching for her sweet spot; he's desperate to want to give her pleasure and please her, desperate to make her call his name.

When she comes it's sudden. She's shaking, yelling his name, and he holds her close as the moment passes. Together they lie down, exhausted, as they turn to face each other.

"I'm sorry." Cullen apologises suddenly.

"For?"

"You know," he sits up slightly, resting his head on one hand. "My performance."

"Your performance?" Evelyn gasps.

"You didn't..." His face turns red. It's one thing to do the act, it's a totally different beast to discuss it so casually. "You didn't come when I did."

"Sweet Maker, Commander!" Evelyn reaches out to touch the tip of his nose with a finger.

"I don't know." Cullen replies, exasperation clouding his brow. "I always thought that both parties will, you know, at the same time."

"That's silly. But, I don't mind practicing more though." Evelyn replies simply, drawing close to kiss him on his forehead, then his nose, and finally, trembling lips meeting his own as they kiss gently.

"Maybe I need to work on my dirty talking." He pulls apart slightly, his forehead touching hers.

"We've got plenty of time." She grins prettily as she stifles a small yawn. Cullen reaches out to touch her face, to want to know that this is real, that she's really right next to him and it's not a dream or one of his torrid fantasies. She snuggles close and he can feel the supple curve of her body against his. His hands travel across her body slowly, eliciting little bumps on her skin. And then he holds her close as he kisses her forehead.

"Are you sleepy already, my Evelyn?" He brushes her hair softly, tangled spun gold in the moonlight.

Evelyn simply giggles softly in response. "I'm sorry, it's been a long day."

"And here I thought you'll want to keep me up all night." He whispers.

"I wanted to. _I still want to_. But we have time. You don't honestly believe this is a one-time thing, right?"

At his stunned look she pushes herself up slightly, her hands now playing with his hair, and she continues.

"Cullen, I do want to be with you. What must I say to convince you?"

"I don't know." He replies lamely, suddenly afraid that he's killing the mood. He is, of course, so he quickly continues. "I mean, it's not every day that the woman you've been fancying for months comes to you and tells you she's been feeling the same way."

"But it is true, Commander. I –" Evelyn pauses. "I was afraid of what _you_ thought. I was waiting for _you_ to make the first move. I was worried I'll place undue pressure on you, if I confessed to you as the Inquisitor."

"I was frightened, because I'm your Commander. I'm not supposed to have designs on somebody who's supposed to be my leader."

Evelyn laughs softly as she holds him close. "So I guess we're even, now?"

"Maybe." He gives her a mock look of thought and she slaps his arm playfully.

"I really like you, Cullen. And I want you to know that I'm serious."

They look at each other under the moonlight, neither breaking eye contact, until slowly, painfully slowly, Cullen pulls her close and kisses her, his tongue exploring her mouth as she runs her hand along him, light fingers caressing sensitive skin as he feels warmth pool in him again. The kiss is slow and passionate, lips against lips, tongue against tongue, and Cullen feels himself lost in her scent, lost in her, his senses overwhelmed as they kiss, again and again. Finally they pull apart slowly, Evelyn's eyes bright with sincerity as she breaks the silence in the room, hanging heavy but not oppressive.

"Goodnight, my Commander." She remarks lazily as she presses close to him, his arms around her protectively.

"Goodnight, my Lady Inquisitor." He replies as he closes his eyes, too. Tonight, for once, she's real.

* * *

Morning dawns upon Skyhold, weak rays of light fragmenting through the stained glass windows of the Inquisitor's room high up in the tower, shards of colour dancing across the room.

Cullen blinks and open his eyes. For a moment he's shocked, wondering whether he's been kidnapped, or whether he's gotten drunk enough to end up in somebody else's room, which, for the record, has never ever happened before. He looks about the high-ceilinged room, panicking a little until he realises he's in the Inquisitor's quarters; the panic then gives way to a deep-seated anxiety. He sits up and breaks into a sweat, desperately trying to recall the events that have led to this – and then he notices his naked self under the bed sheets. _Ah._

The bed next to him is empty, though recently warm. Doubt creeps into Cullen's heart and he frowns. Had she regretted last night? Was he truly that bad? He shakes his head slightly, and reminds himself to breathe. He looks about the room. The fire has been rekindled, and he's hoping desperately it's magic from Evelyn and not one of the servants. It wouldn't do for the entire Skyhold to learn of their evening tryst.

In the morning air, cool and crisp against his skin, Cullen's mind clears, and doubts begin to form in frightening clarity. Was it just a _tryst_? Was she kidding about it not being a one-time thing? Cullen furrows his brow slightly and chews on his lower lip as he stands up from the bed to retrieve his clothing. He's in the process of putting on his smalls when he realises Evelyn _is_ in the room, sitting quietly in the slightly shadowed recesses of her oaken desk. She stands and walks toward him, hips swaying slightly, and his jaw drops.

She's wearing nothing but his surcoat, blond hair cascading down the furs. The surcoat barely covers her, and Cullen finds himself immediately blushing. She's smiling, and she has her staff. It flares to life, a radiant orb at its end.

"Inquisitor." Cullen begins, not knowing what to say.

"Take off your smalls, and get on the bed." She commands, smirking.

Even naked in his furs, she's the picture of authority. Cullen, red-faced and tongue-tied, obliges quickly.

"You seem to still have some lingering doubts about you and I. Let me clear them for you." She pushes him back onto the pillows at the headboard, her breasts barely covered by his surcoat, and he's shocked to discover his body is already ready and waiting.

"They are...understandable doubts." Cullen begins, but trails off when she teases her hips toward his.

"What can I do to convince you that I do want to be with you, that I do want us to be together? That we _can_ be together."

"You _have_ managed to convince me. I just need some time to digest this information." He replies quickly, and Evelyn groans. His eyes travel to her glowing staff on her bed. She kicks it off in one motion and it rolls on the ground, the light extinguishing immediately. He gulps as she lifts his chin with a slender finger, her eyes defiant and determined.

"Let's speed up that process, then." She whispers, and with a finger she traces a rune on his chest. His hands are on her, shrugging off the surcoat, but stops abruptly when he feels a current of cold where she touches and he gasps, ice against the fire burning in him. Her fingers trail southwards; another touch, another rune, and this time it's positively electric. A slight tingle, tickling against his skin.

Evelyn's eyes are dark with hunger as she massages him and inscribes yet another rune, fiery hot and blazing like the fire within him, causing him to become very, very hard.

"Evelyn, I don't know whether I can take more of this." He squeezes his eyes shut momentarily as his hands slide down to pull her closer.

"That's awfully fast, my dear Commander." Her eyes flick to his, dark with lust and hunger, and she runs her fingers along him, feeling his hard smoothness as he trembles beneath her.

"Fuck, Evelyn!" He usually doesn't condone vulgar language, but the situation has left him little choice.

She smirks. "I'll much prefer _making love_ , Commander."

With one careful motion she pulls herself towards him, and he exhales as he releases, warmth pooling within him. He trembles, waves of pleasure rippling down his body as he yells her name; shortly after, she yells his, too, aided by the runes she's drawn on her lower body as well. She grins with some effort, and together they lie down, collapsed on the bed.

"Wait. Do you think the whole Skyhold heard us?" Cullen narrows his eyes.

"Who cares? I hope they did, though." Evelyn plays with his fingers, resting on her breast.

"Evelyn, are you serious? About what you said last night. About everything. Concerning us, I mean." Cullen begins.

"Yes, Cullen." She kisses his fingers as his free hand dances across her bare skin. She shivers under his warm touch.

"I don't know what to say." He whispers, although he knows her words to be true.

"You can start by telling me you love me," Evelyn giggles. He's never really considered the idea that _she_ will reciprocate his feelings, but now that she has, it changes everything.

"I said that last night already. Or unless you require another... demonstration?" A corner of Cullen's lips twitch up in a wry smile. Maybe he can get used to this. Maybe he can get used to the idea of _them_. _Evelyn and Cullen. Cullen and Evelyn._

"We've seriously got to work on our stamina then, if we're to have repeated demonstrations." Evelyn smiles and replies nonchalantly.

"How can you discuss these... things without blushing?" Cullen pushes back locks of hair from her face.

"Last time I remembered, I wasn't the one did all that dirty talking. Or wanting to be that devout priest to worship at my altar." She grins.

Cullen groans. She's never going to let him live that down. "So what should I say, then?"

"You can be the commander of my forces." Evelyn laughs as she tangles her fingers in his hair, her face mock-serious and deep in thought. "The templar to my mage."

"Commander of your forces?" He nods slightly, as if considering the idea.

"You're the Inquisition's Commander." Evelyn whispers into his ear as she presses against him, her body against his and almost unbidden, he's hard again. "But you're also the Inquisitor's Commander. _My_ Commander."

"The Inquisitor's Commander?" Cullen flips them over carefully until he's on top of her; he tilts her face with a gentle hand as he looks her in the eyes, brown ones meeting grey ones. "I think I'll like that very, very much." And he presses his lips to hers softly and gently, the promise sealed with a kiss.


End file.
